Miss She Has Everything I Want
by TephNClaud
Summary: CHAPTER 5 UP![AU] Why is the girl, who has the looks, intelligence, and everything, always ends up with the perfect guy, whereas the girl who has the AVERAGE looks, and artistic skills and a pretty much sucky life doesn't?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Characters are created and owned by Meg Cabot unless stated otherwise. Any unknown characters were created by us.

**Summary:** Why is the girl, who has the looks, intelligence, and everything, always ends up with the perfect guy, whereas the girl who has the AVERAGE looks, and artistic skills and a pretty much sucky life doesn't? Well, that's the story of my life, I, Samantha Madison, hoping that someday, it will change.

Hey guys! This is a tag team between Tephy and Claudine. Enjoy!

This is AU by the way.

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Kamilla, Kamilla Madison. 

That's my cousin's name.

And she's visiting, visiting the Madison Household, coming to MY house.  
You are probably asking why I'm dreading and complaining about her visit. It's just that…well, I don't like her very much.

Yeah, yeah I know. She's my cousin and all and a relative, but so what?

She visits every two years. And I have this premonition that she only does it to annoy me. And show off.

How do I know? Well, because two years ago― when she visited when we were thirteen years old― she boasted about the guys she had kissed that year.

Which was sick because you know, talk about bizarre. I mean, _I_ haven't even gotten MY first kiss. And her? She said that she had kissed six guys that year. SIX GUYS! And no guy ever tried to do anything with me, unless you know, you count drawing things for them when they are too lazy to do their art homework.

Plus she has the look. You know, the blonde, blue-eyed, 'feminine' shape and 5'9 look― she inherited it from her mom. While I inherited the Madison look; flaming red hair, pale complexion, blue eyes…etc. Not that I'm saying Lucy is ugly, she's way prettier than Kamilla.

The thing is, Lucy and Rebecca inherited my mom's facial features and have the perfect auburn hair. Guys fight over them, if not for the looks, then the brains― which Rebecca totally has.

No guy ever fought for me…unless you count that time when I was auctioning my drawing of Lucy, then yeah.

I guess being a middle child has its own advantages and disadvantages. For example, I might not have gotten the looks, but I got the artistic skills. I can draw pretty well, if I do say so myself. And of course, I'm not doing very badly in school, I'm actually doing pretty good ―better than Lucy, I suppose.

But let's not get off-topic here.

The only way to describe Kamilla is probably…well, she's the type of girl everyone likes but secretly hates. You know, Regina George from Mean Girls? Yeah, so like her. She gets hung up on stuff, especially boys.

I mean, one time, I was talking to her on the phone (mom made me) and she was crying her eyes out― her boyfriend at that time cheated on her and dumped her the day she found out. It was not a pretty sound.

She was wailing and sniffing, which made me snort. And she was all, "How could you be so mean at a time like this? God, Sam," she said and hung up on me. Me? Being mean? Puh-leeze. I was not being mean. I'm not stupid; she said that so she can tell my mom that I wasn't supporting her through her 'time of need'. Yeah, right, time of need my arse.

Lucy and Rebecca love her. I have no idea why. I guess it's because she and Lucy can share make-up tips and she's actually pretty intellectual…

…No wonder Rebecca doesn't talk to me much; I'm not up to her level, which made me dislike her more. Kamilla, I mean. Not my sister. Of course not.

My sisters like her more than me. I'm also thinking that my parents like her more too…As if that's not obvious.

"Why can't you be more like your cousin, Kamilla, huh Sam?" my mom complained when I got a C on my report card. It was Science, okay? Science isn't my best subject. And that was only once…now don't you look at me like that. I'm not lying. I tried my best― snort―. Plus, I didn't get any help from Rebecca. And we share the same blood!

Well…I guess Kamilla share's our blood too but that's not the point.  
The point is that Kamilla has everything I want.

So here I am, sitting on my bed in my bedroom, wondering what my life would be like if I was like Kamilla.

It's not like my life is below average. I mean sure, I don't get invited to parties much, but I'm not an outcast either― well, unless you ask Kris Parks…then that's a different matter of opinion― really, I have a great best friend, Catherine. But no matter how much I adore― yeah right― my life, there's still one thing missing.

And what is that you ask?

Love.

I guess it's just me and my hormones, since you know I'm already 15 (nearing 16) and I STILL don't have a boyfriend. Maybe it's also the fact that I'm an art freak…hmm…yeah maybe that's why. But I still don't get it.  
Why won't guys come to me? Lucy has like…a gazillion guys after her and Rebecca is getting serenaded by a guy from her school.

I'm pathetic, aren't I?

Well, there WAS that time in 5th grade when this guy named Nick in my class sang the Barbie Girl song in front of me.

But that doesn't count because he was making FUN of me since I was wearing a Barbie shirt and the other girls in my class already had gotten over their Barbie phase.

It wasn't my fault, alright?

Okay, and maybe because of the fact that my classes are full of girls and only like what, six to eight guys? And plus, those guys have their eyes set on Lucy, if not then the popular girls–cough–Kris Parks and her posse–cough. I don't get much experience with the opposite sex, you know.

So don't blame me about not 'mingling' enough.

The doorbell rang and I started fussing around my room.

What am I going to do? I can't just kick my cousin out of my room― oh yeah, did I tell you she was staying in my room for her whole visit? Well, if not, she is― though, that would be a great idea, but no.

I paced back and forth and tripped over my backpack. Face first.

I groaned and lifted myself up. My face probably looked flushed.

"Ugh. Stupid backpack," I muttered and kicked it out of my way.

I looked around my room, hoping that something will make me feel better. But nothing caught my eye.

Why am I so scared of her? Kamilla, I mean. It's just Kamilla.

It's not like she's a threat to me. I'm older than her by a few months, so this is nothing, right? Wrong.

I sighed.

"Sam! Get down here!" my mom yelled from downstairs. "Your cousin has just arrived!"

And what do you want me to do? Do the happy dance? I think not.

"Coming!" I yelled back. Oh, joy. This should be fun…

…Not.

I straightened myself and glanced at my reflection once more in the mirror.

I shook my head and headed downstairs.

I could hear my family and cousin squealing downstairs. They weren't that happy when I returned from a month away, when I was at camp. Just another reason to make me hate her, Kamilla, I mean.

I grudgingly went down the stairs and when I got there, I crossed my arms in front of my chest, hoping that it would protect me from the evil. It didn't. When she saw me, she locked gazes with me.

She said in a fake chirpy voice, "Oh Sam! How nice to see you! You look so beautiful."

I put on a fake smile, using the same tone of voice she used with me. "Oh why thank you, Kami, it's nice to see you too. You're not looking so bad yourself."

Ah! I could see the hate in her eyes when I said the last line. Psh. Talk about conceited.

I looked past her and saw a boy, around my age and Kamilla's, holding two suitcases. Who's he?

"Oh, auntie, I forgot to tell you, my boyfriend," she said to my mom, emphasizing the word 'boyfriend', as if a thing like that will make me more jealous of her. Don't look at me like that…okay, fine, so what if I am? "― wants to stay here too. To be with me, of course." She looked in my direction and smirked. "Is that okay?"

Before my mom could open the door, the boy went inside our house and introduced himself. I didn't see his face because his back was facing me but he had a nice…err, back.

"Hello, Mrs. Madison, how are you? My name's David," he said, shaking hands with my mother. "My parents have some business to do and are really busy. My father said that I can spend the break with whomever. And Kamilla said I could come and stay with her…is that okay?"

My mom just nodded. I could tell that she liked the guy and would approve of him right away since he was so polite.

He turned around and I swear, he is the MOST gorgeous guy I have seen.

I gaped at him and he smiled, "Hi, I'm David. And you are?" he said to me.

I couldn't utter a word, I was surprised. I started to stutter but thank God Rebecca nudged me and brought me back to my senses.

"Um, hi, I'm Samantha Madison, you can call me Sam. I'm Kamilla's cousin," I replied and I bet you that my cheeks were probably red from embarrassment.

Out in the corner of my eye, I saw Kamilla, look at me and smirk. Oh you like me messing up don't you? Especially in front of a hot guy.

Show off!

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So, like it or not? Please review!   
xoxo, Tephy and Claudine 


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Characters are created and owned by Meg Cabot unless stated otherwise. Any unknown characters were created by us.

Thanks for the positive reviews guys! We really appreciate that you took the time to review it. We're sorry that we don't have the time to reply but remember that your reviews mean a lot to us and it keeps us going. So here you go guys!

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**Chapter Two**

Fresh, morning air. Away from my stupid cousin, Kamilla.

I flung my curtains opened and stared at the beautiful mid-morning sun. It was halfway up on the east, in between the very middle of the sky, and the horizon. It had a special glow to it from my window. At least I was blessed with something—a good view of the morning sun. Hey, it's not much, but you have to count your blessings.

For a moment there I think I even forgot the fact that I was, in fact, in the very same house that the Wicked Witch was. Then the thought was, again, hammered again into my head.

It's not fair. It really isn't. I mean, what had I done to the world that it had placed me in a family where good looks apparently were hereditary? Ok, so I never needed braces, but whatever. I don't see my hair naturally silky, the way Rebecca's was. I don't see my roots growing in titian-red. In fact, all I see is wiry hair, with a shade of red that, oh dear God, is repulsive.

I closed my windows, trying to make up my mind about what I'd wear that day. Just because it was summer didn't mean that I would go out in the street looking like the loser/geek/dork I was. Nuh-uh. So not happening.

But, see, I don't have a lot to work with. I mean, my closet is filled with black stuff. You see, I'm mourning at the fact that my lame school doesn't fund the Arts Department enough. Is it that hard to spare us a couple of thousand more a year when they fund the stupid sports so much more? I mean, spare us a cent, will you?

I didn't even glance at my closet. It was bad enough that, at nine o'clock, I was already mad, but the fact that my mom seemed to think I want to actually eat in the same table with Kamilla is out-of-this-world crazy.

"Kids, come down!" Mom called from downstairs. I rolled my eyes and started pacing slowly towards the stairs.

When I got downstairs, I jumped back. My table had transformed from normal, average family dinner table to oh-my-god-so-fancy. It had some kind of royal red velvet tablecloth on it, and served on those hot-food supports were all kinds of brunch-related stuff. Gigantic red apples that I bet were the same kind that the wicked stepmother used to poison Snow White were the main attraction in the fruit basket and filling up the "bald-spots" were grapes, looking all firm and juicy in their deep purple outer coat.

"Mom, who died and made you maid for the king?" I asked, still stunned to see so much food.

Mom grinned and wiped her hands in her black-and-white checkered apron. "I'm so glad you like it. I hope I didn't go a little too extravagant. It'd just that, honey, your cousin deserves this. She's such a sweetheart."

There she goes again. Sweet-talking about Kamilla is what adults found most appealing. I guess that's the scent you rub off on adults when you're Kamilla—the scent of I'm-so-pretty-smart-and-perfect-but-I-act-modest. Yeah, as if. She did not totally deserve the banquet—if anyone deserved it, that person would be me. I'm the one that has to deal with the face that's attached to my neck every time I looked in the mirror. I think that Kamilla can handle being perfect.

I gave her a wry smile. "Yeah, Mom, she totally deserves it,"—I gave her two thumbs-up—"I mean, after all she's been through."

Mom didn't notice the sarcasm in my voice, but gave me a once-over. "Sam, do you think that's appropriate clothing for breakfast?"

I frowned. "Well, Mom, I could go get a ball-gown if you wish."

As soon as those words left my mouth, in came Miss B.itch and Miss Lucy. And their little posse of one person—Rebecca—followed, having eyeliner in her eyes, and looking completely disgusting and dirty for an eleven-year-old.

Oh, yeah. They looked like supermodels. Well, Lucy and Kamilla did, anyway. Rebecca looked like a tramp.

Lucy's hair was expertly done in a French braid, hanging off to the side of her shoulder, on top of her pink see-through shirt, bought at Banana Republic for, my guess seventy five dollars. Layered under her pink shirt was a lace camisole. She was wearing skin-tight Hollister light-blue jeans that had holes on the knees. Her natural looking, spring-fresh make-up was barely noticeable, although it did make her look like an angel.

Kamilla's hair was in a wild, artfully messy bun. She was wearing black cotton leggings under a light-blue jeans mini-skirt with frayed ends, a black tank top that said with sparkles on it, and a sequined half-sweater on top. Her shoes were ballet-flats, giving her the casual look, which did do her justice. Her makeup, like Lucy's, was subtle, yet perfectly applied.

Uh, no one gave me the memo that we were going to a professional fashion shoot for Vogue or anything.

I stared at them. "What's with the Charlie's Angels look?"

Kamilla laughed. "We're dressed for the spa." She said it like it was obvious. Well, excuse me for not knowing that Mondays are official spa days.

"We're going to a spa?" I asked. That did not—and would not—fit in my day's schedule. I had no intentions whatsoever of being soaked down from head-to-toe with mud or whatever they did to renovate old ladies skin. That was, partly, because I was not old.

"Well, we are. You aren't," Lucy said and she and Kamilla laughed. How nice; my own sister turning against me.

I eyed Rebecca. "She's going?"

Rebecca nodded eagerly. "Yep!"

Maybe I should add that Rebecca is a lot like me—she doesn't do girly stuff. Especially not spas.

I shook my head in disbelief. "Since when do you go to spas?"

Kamilla said in her usual it's-so-obvious-you-should-already-know-it voice, "I told Rebecca they could really work on her. I mean, she's gorgeous for a eleven-year-old," notice the emphasis on the word gorgeous. Then that tramp muttered, "Unlike some people I know."

I made sure to give her my evilest glare, but all she could return was a sweet—and fake, might I add—smile.

I looked down at my flowered shorts (yes, I do have flowered shorts) and my old, frayed around the sleeves SAVE THE ARTS T-shirt. (Don't ask.) I looked like a homeless person compared to them. Well, except Rebecca. I hoped they gave know-evil-cousins-from-nice-cousins lessons at the useless spa they were going to.

"Sam, I suggest you come down to breakfast better dressed from now on," Lucy said with a sneer. I, at that exact time, was scratching the back of my leg with my other leg, and fell over with that comment, blushing like mad.

I stormed into the kitchen where there were normal people. Okay, so there was no one there, because everyone in the family was bewitched by Kamilla's charm. Psh, charm my ass. The girl's evil.

"Sam, where are you?" Mom asked, sounding vague, probably from talking to ever-so-interesting Kamilla. She made me sick.

"Uh,"—I began moaning—"menstrual cramps. I'm going to go upstairs."

As if there was anyway I would sit with the face of evil on the table. Of course, I probably deeply embarrassed myself with David and Dad, but do I care? Nuh-uh. Anything is better than that of sitting with Kamilla.

"Okay, honey," Mom said. "That's great. We'll talk later."

See what I mean? See why I cannot stand that figure of evil? I just did something that the real, nice and funny, if I do say so myself, Samantha would never do. I mean, sure, Lucy might declare a near-death experience due to cramps, but I most certainly would not. And, in fact, if she had listened the way she pretended she did, which I know she didn't, she would have commented on that. But no. They were probably lost in one of Kamilla's fascinating getaway from some extremely hot guy. I bet she was probably shoving wallet-sized pictures of him up their noses.

With my eyes permanently glued to the floor and my shoulders shoved forward and out, I walked up the stairs ever so slowly. It wasn't even possible that my life could suck so much. It really wasn't.

I walked into my room and slammed the door shut, hoping some ruckus had aroused on the lower level of my house, preferably causing a the fan to magically fall onto Kamilla's head and make her disappear for, hopefully, all eternity. No such luck. I was burdened with having to having to hear her lively chatter even in my own haven—my own oasis—and not having anything I could do about it. Life is just a piece of cake, isn't it?

I plopped into my bed without a single thread of excitement within my system, and heaved a deep, long sigh. You're probably wondering why I hate my cousin so much. If I haven't expressed her inner snootiness in ways you can fathom yet, I should probably dig deeper in your soul.

Let's begin with grade one. I was standing in the playground of our school—we were actually neighbors back then, before her parents thankfully moved away—minding my own business, waiting for my turn on the swings, and she comes in and pushes me into the damp sand, not showing a bit of remorse for having done so. Now I ask you, why would someone do something like that? I hadn't done anything to her, except maybe steal her elephant animal cracker during snack time. But, so what? Is that really an acceptable reason to push someone and get their pink balloon dress all messed up and stained beyond washing? That was my favorite dress, too.

Then, we moved to Morocco. We came back when I was in fourth grade, Kris Parks had basically began to act as if I had big, bold, black letters saying Loser on my forehead and refused to converse with me in any way, shape, or form. Again, I ask you, is that a way to treat the girl who witnessed the disgusting event it'd been when you lost your first tooth? I should think not.

How would Kamilla fit into that? She was in Miss Parks' little posse, the one who seemed to live and breath to make my life miserable. Oh, yeah, that would be my cousin. The girl who supposedly has the same blood as I hold within my veins running through hers. Is it really that much to ask that she takes that fact into consideration when she comes up and tells me, making sure everyone can hear her, that Donald was taking her to the dance and not me? Donald, by the way, would be my second I-would-so-die-over-just-to-have-him-say-'sup-to-me, after Jack. That son of a cow moved away during eighth grade, after he'd publicly told me he thought I was the ugliest beast alive. Well, guess what Donald? You don't hold an ounce of respect of mine. And, furthermore, it's not me that was named after Donald Trump. That's right, ladies and gentlemen; he was named after Donald Trump.

Then she moved away in sixth grade, off to somewhere not over the rainbow, somewhere in Maryland. I never really bothered to learn her address, cell phone number, or even home number, because her Mom, not being a Madison, is just as much of a b.itch as Kamilla, if not more, and I wouldn't even ever call her, so why would I waste three precious killer-bytes on remembering her useless digits? As if. The only time I'd ever try to get in contact with Kamilla Madison would be when I had a big, fancy, and very expensive wedding invite to shove down her throat.

Not that any guy in his right mind would ever propose to me. Nuh-uh, girlfriend. So totally not happening. Because no guy ever fell—or ever will, for that matter—deeply, longingly in love with Samantha Madison.

I stared at my ghostly white ceiling. It didn't fit my personality. Well, no, scratch that; I'm pretty much as boring as you can get, so white, the most boring color there is, fits me like a size seven-and-a-half shoe—perfectly.

I guess I got lost deep in my thoughts, because the next thing I knew, Kamilla's laugh disappeared. I'm not kidding, she'd been laughing the whole time. Laughing that perfect-sounding laugh that you got goose bumps when you heard, it was so flawless.

Okay, so she stopped laughing, big whoop, right? Wrong. I mean, when a girl talking nonstop about her many exploits and she suddenly stops, you just know something is happening and, in my case, no one even bothered telling me about it. I swear, it's like my family is awkwardly blind when she was around. She had that supermodel act down, I observed. When she was around, all eyes were on her. Period. End of story.

I ran out of my room in a sudden rush, not wanting to be left out on whatever they were doing. If mom had pulled out my photo album of my birth in front of David, I'd kill myself. Seriously, she'd totally do that. And then I'd be all like, completely gross him out, why don't you, Mom, and she'd be all, David loved them. Mothers sometimes…completely repulsive and revolting.

I was half-way down the stairs when Kamilla led the group that consisted of Rebecca, Lucy, and Mom to the front door, all chit-chatting with each other, sometimes giggling. Does anyone include me in? I think not.

Rebecca caught sight of me, being the observant almost-sweetheart she is. "Sam, we're going to the spa."

Really? I thought they were just joking. I mean, Lucy and, I'm guessing, Kamilla dress like a couple of up-to-date, out-of-a-fashion-magazine chicks twenty four-seven.

Not letting them aware of my disbelief, I simply asked, "What about Dad and David? Kamilla, is it right to leave your uncle with David?"

"Of course not. First of, David's not even up yet," she said, running her fingers through her hair, purposely, making me notice its silky faultlessness. "And, Uncle Ricky's at work."

She gave me that same, famous trademark-of-Kamilla sweet smile and added, "It's only you and David. No biggie."

Well, excuse me. She isn't even concerned that my inner sexiness might attract David and get him out-of-his-wits in love with me. She isn't even concerned that I might seduce him over to my side.

Oh, who am I kidding? I couldn't even convince a middle-aged guy to let me give him a lap dance. Yeah, a guy like David is so gonna fall for me when he could father the babies of sex goddess Kamilla. Sure he will. In my dreams, he will. In reality, that's a bit…farfetched.

"You'll leave David and me here?" I asked, all at once, in a squeaky voice. Being left alone with that piece of fiery hotness was not in my plans for the first Monday of my summer. I mean, I was planning on maintaining my dignity for, say, at least two weekdays.

"Yeah, so?" she asked, touching her perfect nose as if there was some fault to it she had never noticed. "You'll be good, won't you?"

By that she didn't mean, You will not bat yourself to second base, or further, with him. She meant, You will be a good host.

"Sure," I said, sighing. What could I do? Mom was right there. I couldn't b.itch slap Kamilla.

"Okay," she said, finalizing the conversation, and blew me an air kiss. "Tootles."

With that, she placed her probably very much overpriced sunglasses on and opened the door, stepping outside as if the entryway to my house was a runway. Lucy, failing miserably, tried having the same model-quality to her exit of the house. She stepped outside, nevertheless, looking much like a &#$ duck. Rebecca must've eaten some smart-pills and had limited her level of stupidity to a modest, regular walk out. Mom, well, she walked out like a mom, blowing me a kiss—although, not like Kamilla's little you-know-you-love-me kiss—and locked the door.

I was left exactly where I'd stopped dead on my tracks, still in skeptical about how rude Kamilla had been and how Mom hadn't even bothered to stop her. Stupid Kamilla and her damn charm that made everyone lost in her smile, and made me stand around and take her insults, one after another.

I strolled back up the stairs, slouching down much of the way up. I got up there and just stood there, as if confused as to what my next stop would be. I decided to steal some of Lucy's makeup, test it on, and maybe intimidate Kamilla a bit when she got back from being drenched in only-God-knows-what. Again, farfetched, but it was better than that of standing around and smelling the fresh—yet contaminated with Kamilla's sickening perfume—air.

I just happened to know that Lucy, unlike what you may think of a ultra-popular sixteen-year-old, kept her makeup in the bathroom and not in some pink and fluffy bag on her desk, where she could show it off to every human being alive. No, that's not her. Truth to be told, Lucy doesn't even wear all that much makeup—unlike Kamilla—and is just naturally beautiful like that.

'Course, the stuff did cost a lot of money, but beauty does come with a price tag, doesn't it? Unless you're, I don't know, like, Giselle Bundchen, that supermodel from Brazil. And I bet that even she wears a lot of makeup, seeing as her pictures and covers of only the most exclusive magazines always turn out unfathomably perfect.

Lucy would never let me take her makeup, so that's why sneaky-peaky me had to do her job while the princess was away.

I walked on the tips of my toes to the bathroom. When I was about two steps away, I heard the water in the sink running. Oh, my God. David had awakened. And I, clad in some utterly ridiculous clothes, was standing there, looking pathetically stupid. I turned back around. No way was Mr. Perfect gonna see me in flowered shorts.

"Kamilla, is that you?" David asked. God, the guy has bionic hearing or something. I'm no professional, but I know I wasn't loud enough for him to clearly hear that someone was lurking out in the hall over the running water. Gosh.

I stopped. What was the point of trying to get into my room before he came out only to have him, five minutes later, come and ask me if it was me out in the hall, after he found out that I was the only one in the house. Either that or he'd flip out and in seven minutes flat the whole US army would be swarming our house, looking for a serial killer. I think choice A is more likely, though.

I heard him step out of the bathroom. "Oh, Sam, it's you."

Only, you know, he didn't say it like, It's only you. Gosh. He said it more like, Hey, there. Hi. You know, that kind of thing. Friendly. Now, I ask myself, what was a guy who seemed remotely interested in talking to me doing with my cousin? It just made no sense.

My cheeks began burning. The joy of being a redhead. I tell you, it's not as easy as it looks. I mean, most redheads you see out there in the streets are either uglier than crap or just too damn shy. They give us a bad name. Now, them being shy is probably better. Shy people are less likely to get in trouble, therefore not blushing as much. Anyway, I hate my blush attacks.

I turned around ever-so-slowly, only to see David in what resembled swim trunks, but were more casual looking, and no shirt on. And he wasn't embarrassed at all, seeing as I had caught him half-naked. Not that he needed to be, though. I mean, the guy's abs were washboard hard.

Okay, no, I did not touch them, but they just looked perfect—tanned and beefy, if you catch my drift. And then I ask myself where the hell he got so fine. I mean, Virginia wasn't very famous for its beaches, if you now what I mean.

While busy gawking at them, I lost sense of hospitality. You just don't leave your guest there, staring at thin air, while you enjoy yourself. It's simply not done.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat as, I'm guessing, a way to politely get my attention. Why aren't guys more like him? If you did what I was just doing to some jock at my school—and you had a certain level of hotness in you—they wouldn't stop you. And, they were definitely not polite.

I shook my head, getting away from what was now my favorite fairy-tale—David's abs. "Sorry."

He gave me an amused grin. I'm sure that if it were a Kamilla-look-alike staring at his open stomach like that, he'd give her a dazzling smile, but since it was just me, the ugly redhead, he found it amusing I had even the slightest notion he could possibly like me staring at him. But then, David didn't strike me as that kind of guy.

"So, where are the lasses?" he asked. Wow, he even knows what lass means. Major step-up from guys at my school, guys that Lucy dated, and guys every girl in America seems to dream of, let me tell you.

"Day spa," I said nonchalantly. It's not like I care where Kamilla could possibly be when I'd just found the guy that lit my fire.

He nodded, as if expecting something like that from Kamilla. "So, what is there to do?"

I shrugged. In my mind I was thinking, well, we could just stare at you all day. Of course, I didn't say that. I don't flirt and, besides, he was Taken. "I dunno."

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Is there any breakfast?"

Well, if you count the hundred and one plates Mom made, then the answer would be yes. "Yes. I haven't eaten yet, but from what I saw when I went down, it looks like we have a wide variety."

Nice Sam. Score. You didn't say anything stupid.

"Cool," he said, bobbing his head forward. "I'll go throw on a shirt, and I'll meet you down there?"

No! Don't throw on a shirt. We're both fine like we are now. Well, you are. I probably look like a dead, wilted flower.

Before I could answer, he turned around and marched back into his room, one of the many spare rooms we have in the second floor.

Oh, whatever. At least I got to glance at that piece of meat.

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Please review! 

Much love, Teph and Claudine


	3. Chapter 3

I didn't think I'd cross paths with him again because it's been an hour since the last time I saw him, so I thought he already ate breakfast. I guess I was wrong. Stupid me, I decided to come down to the kitchen since I was starving and guess who I see sitting there reading the newspaper, drinking coffee from MY mug― not that he knew it was mine. He could've asked! Psh, guys. But seeing him sitting there in the table made my blood boil, in a good way.

He didn't notice my arrival― hardly anyone does. I'm like this invisible person. I'm just…there― well, not until I opened the refrigerator door to get a drink and slammed it shut.

David put down the newspaper he was reading and greeted me. "Hey Sam," he said.

"Hey yourself," Somehow, my voice managed NOT to shake as it usually does whenever I talk to a hot guy, mainly David.

"So, have you eaten breakfast yet?" I asked and it took a lot of courage for me to be able to utter those six words.

He shook his head and smiled at me.

Oh, that gorgeous smile…oh, how I love thee.

Okay, I think I'm going absolutely crazy for this guy, and I've only met him yesterday! We haven't even established a decent friendship yet!

….Yet, here I am trying to sneak a peak of his abs just under the white muscle tee he's wearing. Sigh, If only I could stare at his bare chest one more time…

Granted, when I looked up, he was staring at me. He was watching me watch him, which could only mean one thing:

NOOO! 

My face felt hot and tingly and I am so sure that the blush that crept up to my cheeks when I saw him turned even REDDER than before as we locked gazes.

A jolt of electricity surged through me as I examined the depth of his eyes and I'm sure he felt it too because he shuddered.

"Weird," he said. 

"Yeah…that's right. Weird," I repeated.

David gave me another one of those heart-stopping smiles and my mouth felt dry then.

Gosh, how can he make me feel like this?

I shrugged and bowed my head, trying to hide the evidence that I was blushing.

I looked up and was startled to find him still smiling at me.

"So did you eat breakfast yet?" I asked again, even though I know that he hasn't since I already asked him that question.

He smiled at me again. "No, not yet," Thankfully he didn't seem irritated by repeating the question. Whew! 

I cleared my throat. "Um. Okay. Here, let me serve you breakfast," I said, reaching for the cabinet to grab a plate. 

"No, don't," David said. He stood up and walked towards me. "I'll do it. Have YOU eaten breakfast yet?" 

Why does he care? I mean, it's not like he'd notice a red-head-who-is-an-art-freak like me. Who does anyway? But of course, I didn't say that out loud, instead, I settled for, "No," and crossed my arms over my chest.

He placed himself beside me and put his arm around my shoulder. WHAT IS HE DOING?

"I'll make you breakfast," he said.

"That won't be necessary. I'll make breakfast for the two of us. Okay? So if you can kindly move out of the way, I can get this done."

He shrugged. "Okay then, suit yourself," he said and moved back a little.

I opened the fridge and took out a milk carton. Turning around, my feet got tangled together, dropping the milk carton on the floor― ugh; maybe I shouldn't have quit my ballet lessons― and would have fallen flat on my face if it wasn't for David catching me.

He put his arm around my waist and pulled me close.

"Are you okay?" he asked, still not letting ago.

I looked at him all funny. "Um yeah sure."

I reached backwards and held his hands to unclasp his grip on me.

"Not just yet," he said and tightened his hold more. "Do you still want to eat breakfast?" 

"No," I said.

"Neither do I," he said and started leaning towards me.

The phone rang and I could've jumped a mile if David wasn't still holding me.

"Let me go get that," I said and he let go.

I went inside the living room to grab the phone but by then, it stopped ringing. Thank God or else…something could have happened back there. Whew! That was close, real close. My face felt as if it was on fire and it was so warm…and my…gosh.

I ran upstairs, scared to see David again. After that incident, I don't know how I'm ever going to handle myself in front of David. I'm serious. I'm like…scared of him now. 

I lay down on my bed and stared into space. Could it be possible that he likes me?

Get your mind out of the gutter Sam. You know you can never win guys who have gone out with Kamilla. 

I sighed. Of course that's right.

No guy like David will ever like a girl like me.

It's just not happening. 

Nu-uh.

--------

Two hours later, I heard the doorbell ring. Great, just great. They're back. Psh.

I quickly straightened myself up and brushed my hair. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and my face was still flushed.

Ugh. What in the world is happening to me?

The front door creaked open and I heaved a sigh. Here comes the wicked old witch…es. 

Yeah. Witches. Not my mom, of course not. My sisters, sure. My cousin, DEFINITELY.

"Sam? Where are you? Come down here!" my mom called from downstairs.

"Be right there mom!" I called back.

Sighing again, I fumbled with my bracelet. Whatever. I shouldn't be scared of ANYONE. Especially David. Not him.

I went downstairs and found them all groomed up…and what's this…

Holding hundreds of shopping bags! 

THEY WENT SHOPPING WITH OUT ME? HOW…

I'm seriously considering running away now. Kidding.

But that's unfair…my mom never liked shopping…and here she was holding like…10 shopping bags of her own!

I heard footsteps behind me and found David.

Damn.

"Hi, sweetie," my mom cooed. "Did you and David have a nice day?" She looked at David.

David smiled. "Of course, Mrs. Madison, Sam had been helpful."

"Then all is well," she turned to me. "Sam, are you okay?"

I guess she caught me gaping. I was just appalled that my mom would rather take Kamilla shopping than me and I'm her own daughter! That's just not fair. I shook my head. "Yeah, sure, I'm alright."

I looked at Kamilla and found her smirking at me.

Why does she always have to do that?

THAT SMIRK.

Sometimes, I feel like ripping her into pieces. That's how much I despise her.

I turned to David and he was looking at me all funny. As if he was trying to read what was on my mind.

He winked at me. "Um, Mrs. Madison, Kamilla, is it okay if Sam and I go to Burger King? We haven't eaten breakfast yet…and I assume that you guys have eaten…so…"

"Oh of course its okay. Of course. You two can go. Have a good time!" she said and walked past me and up the stairs.

I looked at Kamilla and she plastered on a smile even though I knew she was fuming inside. I could see the invisible smoke coming out of her head.

Ha-ha. Serves her right. Jeez.

"Kamilla? Is that okay with you?" I asked with a smile even though inside, I was really nervous…I mean, going to Burger King with David? And God forbid…ALONE WITH DAVID!

"Yeah, it's alright," she glared at me and winked at David. He just nodded at her.

"Thanks Kamilla," he said and turned to me. "So I'll meet you down here in 15 minutes?"

I nodded.

"Okay," with that, he ran up upstairs to…which I can only presume, to change.

I grinned at Kamilla, whom dropped her shopping bags to the floor and stomped on her way to her room. Lucy and Rebecca went right on after her, but she signaled for them to wait. Obediently, they did.

Sigh.

Who's got David now, huh Kamilla?


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

I stared at my far-from-perfect reflection in my modest, light-colored wood mirror. This face—the face which I was certain would never even get dates with sixes on the one-to-ten hotness scale—was going to go on a date with an eleven. Do you know how _rare _elevens are?

Okay, so it wasn't a _date_, it was a friendly breakfast. Anyhow, I'd be seen with a guy girls gawk over and no one would know the difference. It's not like I have a big sign on my forehead saying _This piece of fiery goodness is NOT my boyfriend!_ (Although, I do have a sign on there saying _loser._)

I imaged what it'd be like to have David as a boyfriend. He'd be all tender with me all the time, and maybe I might even feel comfortable with having him, umm, fooling around with me. And, maybe, he could actually be The One.

I mentally slapped myself. He was _Kamilla's _boyfriend. I couldn't be fantasizing about him _that_ way. Oh, God, no! It was just…_wrong_.

My door was kicked open by a very, very, _very _mad Kamilla. She began snagging her fingers at me. "Don't even think about stealing my boyfriend."

Normally, I'd be totally embarrassed and would begin blushing furiously. This time, however, Kamilla was the one who was "educating" me, so I only remained calm and tried to keep my cool. I waved her hand away and said, "What makes you think I would?"

She huffed and crossed her arms in front of her perfect 34C chest. "I know the game you're trying to play and a lot of other bitches have tries stealing David away from me. I kicked their ass, putting it mildly. Don't try anything funny, Samantha, or else you will suffer. And when I say suffer, I mean a pain that will closely resemble your eyes being scorched out."

I grabbed a brush and began to gently brush my hair, not paying any attention whatsoever to Miss I-Can-Kick-Your-Ass. Consequently, she began tapping her foot in a very annoyed rhythm. _Tap, TAP, tap, TAP. _

"I know it may seem like David likes you," she began. "But, really, he's just being nice. I mean, what kind of a guy would David be if he didn't make a girl as _ugly_ as you feel the tiniest bit special?"

This made my blood boil. I stared daggers at her, and clenched my open hand into a tight fist, trying—rather unsuccessfully, I should add—to keep my hand from pouncing upon Kamilla's multi-thousand dollar nose and breaking all the precious bones it contained.

"How do I know this? Maybe because of what he and I just did," she continued, smirking with a certain sense of superiority. "You know, the act of love?"

I heaved a deep sigh. Yeah, sure, they'd just Done It under my parents' roofs, with a chance of anyone walking in on them—including Rebecca, whom I'm not even sure knows about sex yet—and getting busted. However, it was just like Kamilla to be bluffing.

But something was bothering me. A little bell in the back of my brain was ringing uncontrollably, telling me that maybe Kamilla _had _Done It with David right then and there. I mean, sex didn't take all that long, did it? Well, at least for people who'd done it before and were pretty quick at it. That would mean that David is not a virgin and has not been a virgin for a long time. Unbelievable, I know.

"Bull," I spat out. I could've added a big, juicy wad of spit into her face, but I held myself back, because she'd probably go crazy and slap me.

She smirked again. "Believe what you want, darling."

The door of my room tipped open, and David's head popped in. "Sam, are you ready?" He walked in and took a look at the whole room, slightly nodding with approval. I hope.

My brain turned into mush. I didn't think I was capable of forming a proper sentence. But, instead of being rude and remaining mute, I attempted something. "Sure."

I turned to Kamilla, who only gave me a warning glance, and waved her goodbye. "Bye, Kammie."

She shuddered at the long-forgotten nickname, but waved goodbye with a phony smile. "Bye, Sammie."

She hurried over to David's side. He looked at her with adoring eyes and tipped his head down (Kamilla is, like, five-six and he's six-something). Kamilla caught his lips and seemed to think she could train them into doing flips with hers, because she completely Frenched him right then and there, with me witnessing every little bit of it.

Kamilla pushed her body closer to his, spreading her legs on either side of one of his legs, pushing herself against it. David began pulling back, but Kamilla cupped each side of his face, and pulled it closer to hers.

Around five seconds later, David pulled back completely. "Whoa, Kamilla, what the hell was that?"

She looked at him innocently. "Just telling you goodbye, honey."

His face clouded. "This kind of stuff is not appropriate to do in your _cousin's room_."

Kamilla fake pouted, and pecked him on the cheek. "I'm sorry, David."

I was just standing there, being a spectator of the whole scene. It left my stomach turning circles. Even though David was clearly scorning Kamilla for being so intimate with him right there, the expression on his face when she was pressing her heaving body against his—pressing her boobs against his chest—was one of pleasure.

Maybe Kamilla was right. Maybe David didn't like me at all. Maybe he really was just being nice. Maybe I was so transparent that he could clearly see that my self esteem was hitting rock bottom and that I desperately needed a hot guy to like me.

David turned to me. "Ready, Sam?"

I stood there, bewildered. Here Kamilla was, getting all whore-like—albeit, she is always like that—and David was actually paying attention to _me. _I eyed Kamilla, who had her arm interlaced with his, and got an icy-cold stare back.

"Sure," I said, winking at Kamilla. She rolled her eyes and discreetly slapped her butt.

David unwound himself out of Kamilla's grasp, and walked out of my room, giving me one last glance before he walked out, as if saying, S_ee you downstairs._

As soon as his foot disappeared in the hallway, Kamilla's little pleasant expression vanished with it, uncovering a very menacing grin. "See what I mean, Sammie? He ain't interested."

I scoffed. "Like I want him to be." I didn't let her see my burning face—no duh—and I stormed out of the room, only to crash right into the arms of Greek god, David.

"Whoa, there," he said with a laugh, and helped me get back up on my feet. I blushed furiously. "You okay?"

I didn't meet his eye contact, but walked right out of his grip and raced down the stairs. "Come on. Let's go."

----

The walk to Burger King was interesting. First, there were a bunch of tourists everywhere, taking pictures of every little monument they found along the way. It was really amusing how they thought that a little stone ship off to the side of the sidewalk was actually relevant to American history.

David tried making small talk with me, which only added to my amusement. I don't know how small talk is done wherever it is he lives, but he was clueless about how they do it here in D.C. Or even how they do it at all.

"So, uh, do you take any sports?" he asked.

"Nope. I'm an art freak," I blurted out. Now, I ask you, why, oh why, does a girl even admit that to a guy? Is it seriously a problem that I have with over sharing or does everyone do this?

He nodded, obviously not knowing what to say next. Well, congratulations Sam. You just got a guy speechless, and in a bad way, at that. I don't comprehend how retarded I am with guys. It's like I lose all that valuable knowledge I've been gaining all my life about how _not_ to disguise myself as bozo when cute men are around, and just give in the wave of humiliation that I heap myself into.

"I like art, too," he said, as I was lost in my thoughts. This surprised me. I mean, it _really _surprised me. Guys who like art are as rare as, say, guys who have three arms. Well, take that back; guys who _admit_ they like art are as rare as popular jocks that carry briefcases and are always pushing up their glasses against their face. In other words, it doesn't ever happen.

"Really? I would've never guessed," I commented. Yet another dumb thing to say. It's like there's this never ending hole of pathetic things to say in the pit of my vocal chords that always make appearances at the most bizarre times.

Okay, so that bit wasn't as bad as some of the stuff I'd actually uttered in the past. You wouldn't believe all the crap that managed to escape the, if I do say so myself, loose security that is filtering my words for embarrassing situations. But it still was a dead-end statement. What could he possibly respond to that?

"Why not?" he asked, tilting his heads towards mine, letting the sun shine on half of it, making his eyes this honey gold color. It was enough to turn me into honey, myself. And the tone of his voice…I would go to so much as naming it the eighth World Wonder. He hit this unbelievable note of softness every time he opened his mouth up to speak, it was enough to make me want to kneel down in his presence. This guy was the closest any human would ever get to perfection.

"It's just that," I began, soon finding myself at quick loss of words. How do I put the fact he is the most amazing, most lovable thing on the face of earth and guys like that just aren't interested in art in terms that don't sound as if I'm pining for him with every fiber of my being? How does a girl do that?

I stopped talking, hoping he'd stop asking. I almost slapped myself. Why is it that I always rub off as rude when a cute guy talked to me? Now when a god talked to me, I gave off the foul smell of barbaric freak. It was like I wasn't even civilized, for crying out loud!

He nodded. "That tells me a lot."

I almost started crying. It was painful how badly I was treating this perfectly nice guy. I was practically giving him a cold shoulder. And there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

"Sorry," I said apologetically. "I can't explain it very well."

"Artists are never good with words, anyway," he said, scratching the back of his head. "We're better with the visual works, things we can build and create from our own hands."

I virtually threw myself at his feet. Well, more or less, I almost thrust myself at him, but whatever. The point is that he just summarized what I'd been searching for my whole life; the reason _why_ I awful at letting out my feelings in a clear and precise way, so that everybody who heard me had a lucid and comprehensible understanding of what I was referring to.

Instead of degrading myself in the shameful act of _throwing_ myself at him, I held myself back, and nodded. I could feel my eyes sparkling in disbelief of how precise this guy had just been. It was like he had my whole life in a nutshell.

"Exactly," I agreed. "That's exactly how I've felt my whole life. That I can't trust myself with the words that slip out of my mouth twenty-four-seven, that is."

He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. "That's the reality to a lot of us, you know?"

"Actually, no, I didn't," I admitted, letting out a nervous laughter. Good thing my laughter doesn't demonstrate how completely-at-loss-of-words I am.

I began wishing the sidewalk would start rolling, making us get there faster. How much of this conversation would we need to witness before Burger King magically appeared in the horizon?

Well, my wishes must've been heaven bound—for once, I should add—because Burger King soon emerged out of the shadows. It was like an oasis in the middle of the desert—instead of relieving me from thirst, however, it relieved me from mortification.

I pointed at it like a little girl pointing a red balloon at a carnival; eager and all. "There it is."

This, I realized just a second later, was a stupid thing to do. David _knew_ that it was right there where I pointed it to. There was no way in hell that he didn't, because the oversized sign of Burger King was casting a large shadow right on top of us.

He grinned. "Yep, there it is."

---

"Know what you want?" David asked, his eyes still glued to the menu that was placed right behind the cash register, way up high on the wall.

"Yeah," I said with my eyes also glued to the menu. This was a lie, of course. I couldn't decide on what to order. I didn't want to seem like a compulsive freak who loved double cheeseburgers, but I didn't want to be another Kamilla tool, who was obsessed with greens and only ate salad.

"So, you order first," he concluded, peeling his eyes off of the big menu.

"No, that's okay," I said, waving my hand. "You can go first."

"Ladies first," he said pleasantly, with another one of those heart wrenching smiles. He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I want to see what you're going to get, so I can base my choice off of yours, anyway."

My heart melted. When you get the results to my autopsy report, you'll conclude that first my heart accelerated, then it melted. This guy was way too overwhelmingly perfect for me.

Maybe I should explain why everything he said made me either want to cry, jump on him, or die. He was insanely realistic, and he obviously felt the same way I did about things. He was so gorgeous and he made the weirdest things, like the confession he'd just made, seem like the cutest thing on earth for a guy to do.

I heaved a deep sigh, trying to get my heart rate down. I stammered, "O-o-okay."

I neared the cash register with almost no dignity. The cashier glared at me, as if hating me for choosing Burger King as my brunch location. Well, excuse me for giving you some business. If she worked in commission, maybe she'd be a little more open to me being there, ordering some food.

"Hi, welcome to Burger King, may I take your order?" she slurred, not sounding even a little bit convincing.

"Uh, yes," I began. "May I have a…uh…a…"

I didn't know what I wanted to order. It was as simple as that. The lady gave me an annoyed glance, followed by a heated look. "What's your order going to be today, madam?"

I felt as if she were reading lines from a script. If she were being real, there would probably be some extreme profanity use in the middle of the chitter-chatter, not to mention some fist throwing.

I gave the menu one last glance before I settled on a random combo. "I'll have a number eight, please."

I could feel David's surprise. Maybe he'd been expecting some sort of Kamilla sized meal, which usually consisted of the simple, everyday tossed lettuce and a few carrots. Boy is he in for a wake up call.

Number eight just happens to be the greasiest, most fattening burger in the land. I don't know why, but I love that thing so darn much. I just can't overcome the temptation to get it, even if I am going to freak out David beyond his wits.

He came forward and supported himself on the counter, glancing up to make sure he wasn't dreaming. I guess not many girls will even be willing to hold up a big, greasy half-pounder, or even to be in the same room as one.

I didn't dare to look at him, not wanting to get some cute little comment. Instead I began focusing on the far-from-pleasant cashier. She looked…dreamy. And not that dreamy you label guys when they're the main subject of your dreams, but dreamy as in she looked like she was in a dream.

That bitch. She was so rude to me just a second ago and then she just turns into a little angel when David is right in front of, looking all handsome from being undecided. It proved two things: I wasn't the only one that went gaga over David, and there were other Kamilla-like bitches out there. Just lovely, isn't it.

"I'll have a number eight, too," he said, uncovering the magnificent, dazzling smile of his to that front-tooth-knocked out skank that who didn't so much as deserve to catch a glimpse of David's extraordinary self.

She took a deep breath, maybe to wake up from the fantasy where she and David were passionately making love on the beach, with the moon beaming its glorious light on them. Well, wake up sister, it ain't happening!

Carefully, she typed in the order, and sneaked in a flirtatious grin towards David. David, being the gentleman he is, gave her another one of his dazzling smiles and slightly rolling his eyes. I guess she didn't catch that, because she continued to smile furiously to him.

"Uh, how much is it?" I asked, cutting her teeth-showing episode out, making it come to an end. She stopped smiling, returned to Earth, and glanced at me. She gave me a disgusted expression (and, I want to add, she looked even uglier than usual).

"Eight sixty-five," she responded, returning her gaze to David, and fixating it there. I shoved my hand in my black jeans, searching for a ten, when I saw David getting out his billfold or wallet—whatever you call it for guys—and getting out a ten.

"David, are you sure?" I asked, sort of embarrassed he was paying. It made the brunch meeting seem like a date, and I'm sure Kamilla wouldn't be at all flattered.

He shifted his gaze to me and winked. "Yeah, it's fine. No big."

He handed the bill over to the cashier, who took it with some overdone effort; I guess as another shot in trying to flirt with him. I felt like throwing a brick at her head—couldn't she see he was not interested?

"Here, have two dollars," she said. Cheapo! Everyone knows you can't buy a guy, and if you could, it'd be for more than forty-five cents. Wait…_thirty_-five cents. Oh, whatever. Bottom line is you can't buy a guy!

He cracked a polite smile and muttered, "Thanks."

She gave the flirty smile act again, but it kind of, sort of didn't work out for her. She looked retarded, not to mention over-smiling. "No problem."

The girl resembled Jennifer Coolidge in "Legally Blonde" when she played Pauline, that low-self-esteem, desperate woman trying to hook up with the mailman. You know that idiotic smile she did when he brought over a package to her and Elle (Reese Witherspoon) had to dry her hands in the middle of her manicure just to sign for it because Pauline was acting useless? Yeah, that's the smile the cashier was smiling.

"Uh, okay, bye-bye," David waved her goodbye and stepped out of the line. She, however, didn't stop smiling at him, making her affections for him as obvious as the fact Michael Jackson bleached his skin.

He turned to me so she couldn't see what he was doing and mouthed, "Weirdo."

I giggled like a first grade girl and mouthed back, "Definitely!"

He opened up an amused smile; thankfully it was because he thought it was funny and not because I did something embarrassingly funny or because I looked funny.

We remained quiet after that, and I realized that for the first time since I'd seen David, I'd let him finally see what the real Sam is like, a girl with a sense of humor and who's not that bad. 'Course, I'm still not that much of a catch, because even guys as nice as David always go with the hot, big-breasted girl. And that would be Kamilla and Lucy, except for Kamilla is a bit more…perceptive, but not in a wise way. She just gets more stuff—comprehensive, I guess you can say.

About three minutes later the same clown came back with our food, two huge piles of trash that happened to be simply delicious! She, again, did the now-getting-old bit of smiling at David. Still looking like the fool she was, and looking like Jennifer Coolidge.

David gave her an awkward smile and took the tray, turning away from that freak the moment he got a firm grip on the dish. I followed him, giving the girl a pity-smile before I turned my back to her.

I power walked to the table and sat down, wanting to take a big, hearty bite of my half-pounder. He placed mine in front of me and his in front of him, and put the tray on the table right next to us.

"What a tool," he commented as he opened the wrapper for the sandwich.

I know it may sound hypocritical, but it didn't sound right to talk about her that way whenever I was feeling the same way about him. Even if I wasn't so blatant about it, she still shared the same feelings of inferiority to David.

"Something tells me that she isn't the first girl that's hit on you in such an obvious way before," I said, taking a big first bite of my sandwich.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, looking up from the busy task it was from pulling away from the first bite of the sandwich.

Oh, darn it! He did it again. He trapped me in a place where I'd have to say that he was so hot and so nice and so perfect. But I couldn't admit that—first of all, I, Samantha Madison, don't share my feelings for guys with _them_ and second, he was taken already. It'd put me in a problematic situation.

"Well, uh," I stammered. Would it sound so bad if I said he had an unfaultable personality and remarkable charm? I wiped my mouth with my paper napkin. "You have this way of making girls…_like_ you, I guess."

There! I'd said it! And I could feel the resent coming on…oh, how lovely.

He cocked up an eyebrow. "Is that so? How would you know? You only know me for a couple of days."

No! Anything but this! He's cornering me. This is not good. _Sam, leave to the bathroom, now! _

I stood up suddenly and said, "I'm sorry, I, uh, gotta _go_."

Not waiting around for a reply, I hurried off to the end of the fast-food joint, where the restrooms were located. I opened the swung open the door marked Women and shuffled in. Once in, I leaned against the wall.

I heaved a deep breath. I breathed in and out.

_That was a close call._


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Sorry for the long delay. :D Thank you all for the lovely reviews! It means a lot to the both of us. So, here's the next chapter!

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* * *

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**CHAPTER 5 **

The walk home was unbearable. Neither of us was talking and I felt like punching him in the gut.

Why won't he talk?

Seriously, I'M the ONE who SHOULD be SILENT. I'm the one who should feel embarrassed into thinking that this guy walking beside me would actually kiss me. He's the ONE who SHOULD talk or at least make a light conversation instead of letting me just fume right beside him.

Guys. They'll never learn.

As we were nearing my house, I noticed a black car, EXPENSIVE FROM THE LOOKS OF IT, parking in front of my driveway. A man came out of the passenger seat and looked around.

David cleared his throat. "Let me walk you to your house. I have some… business to do."

I looked at him confused. Now he breaks the silence. Oh, joy! What? Am I supposed to be all giddy now just because he talked for the first time after 15 minutes of walking?

Nu-uh.

Don't think so. Humbug.

He motioned for the man to wait by the car.

We got to my front door. I opened it and entered, closing it a little. When I noticed David didn't come with in with me, I went back. "Thanks Sam, I had a really nice time," he said. Me too! Me too! That just so sounded like an after-date line. "I'll see you back in, okay?" and smiled.

Now I became suspicious. What was he going to do?

As if he knew what I was thinking, he said, "Go in first, and ask questions later."

I was annoyed at the fact that he wouldn't explain right now, but I guess beggars can't be choosers right?

I nodded and shrugged.

"Thanks, Sam." He smiled at me. "This might take long… so I guess you don't need to wait for me." Who said I was going to wait for him? "Goodnight, just in case." He said and shut the door.

The nerve of the guy! To think that I liked him so much… if it wasn't for the fact that he was good-looking and very nice, I would've pounded him.

Hmph!

But I still do very much like him. What? Don't look at me like that. I guess it's because this is the first time a guy ever treated me so nice without asking for anything.

Yeah, that's right.

Samantha Madison shows her vulnerability at last.

You can stop laughing now. I guess all I want is a guy who'd be there for me through good and bad, and I see David as that guy but I can never have him because he is Kamilla's boyfriend and I don't stand a chance against her.

Okay, okay, maybe I do but when it comes to guys and being pretty? Kamilla will win that for sure.

I sighed.

My time will come.

That's what everyone says right?

I walked up the stairs and headed to the bathroom to take a quick shower before bed. I wasn't waiting for David.

No way. I mean come on; he might think I'm…'yearning' for him.

Pfft.

After I was done, I went to my room and changed to my pajamas.

At least, I felt way better.

Lying down on my bed, I said to myself, "Don't dream about David and the 'perfect' night you guys had."

Okay, maybe not exactly a perfect night but you get my drift.

A few more minutes later, I fell asleep instantly.

--------------------------------------------

Bright light shone through my windows and woke me up instantly from my deep slumber. Okay, not exactly deep slumber because I couldn't even sleep but thank goodness I didn't dream about him.

I stretched before getting off the bed and checked what time it was.

It was 9 o'clock in the morning.

Too early for words, but I decided to just head over to my closet to find out what to wear for the day.

Not thinking about David.

Nu-uh.

After 15 minutes of contemplating about which t-shirt I should wear, I finally decided on a simple white shirt and black sweats.

What? Don't look at me like that. It's not like any hot guys will be seeing me in sweats. I mean, I haven't seen David since last night and I know I just woke up but whatever.

I headed downstairs when I was done and no sign of David. All I saw was Kamilla sitting in the living room watching TV.

I walked over to the other couch and sat there, watching what she was watching.

She didn't say a word.

I heaved a sigh. "So, Kamilla… what's up?" I put on a fake smile. I can't believe I'm doing this. This was so unlike me. I never talk to my cousin alone because that's when her claws usually come out. When we're alone, I mean.

Kamilla didn't answer.

She just completely ignored me. Just like what Kris Parks does during school. They are so alike, seriously. If they both went to the same school together, they'd be the best of friends.

See, she's a cheerleader and I'm an artist.

She's the prom queen; I'm the girl next door.

We just don't click.

I cleared my throat.

Kamilla turned to me. "Were you talking to me?" she asked and scrunched up her face. An unattractive expression but still looked good on her. Damn, what I'd give to be like her. Not. Girls like her are too catty. Trust me, I know these things. "And since when did you get here?"

Ignoring her usual treatment, I got to the point. "So, where's David?"

She turned off the TV and glared at me. "Why do you care? It's not like he'd give you a time of day."

Uh, newsflash, Kamilla, he already did.

I shrugged even though I was fuming inside. "I was just wondering because I don't think he came back last night."

She smirked. She probably enjoys my suffering more than a little kid enjoys his or her ice cream.

"Whatever. He got a call from someone and he had to leave. He said he'll be back though." She glared at me again. "And don't ask me when. He said soon."

I got up and smiled at her. "Thanks." I left and went to the kitchen to make myself breakfast.

The newspaper was left on the table and the front page cover caught my eye. The picture of the guy and the girl looked familiar.

I read the headline and froze.

'PRESIDENT'S SON IN BURGER KING, WITH A DATE!"

And I realized that the girl was me, me, Samantha Madison, a normal girl, and David… the president's son. It was taken from yesterday when we were at Burger King.

Oh crap.

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